


As He Slowly Fell Apart

by Hanna_Tucker



Category: The Imitation Game (2014)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Father-Son Relationship, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 18:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19179157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanna_Tucker/pseuds/Hanna_Tucker
Summary: Alan didn't want to move. He doubted he could if he wanted to- not in his condition. His face was scrunched in agony, his hands infected with that oh so damned trembling. Tears trickled slowly down his face. That bloody so-called "medicine". It wasn't medicine. It was not medicine, it was not something designed to help anyone. It was something that brought pain and suffering to anyone who had to endure it. It didn't cure anyone of anything. It was a poison, a poison that tore one's identity to shreds.And it tore at Alan's with a viciousness that could not be matched.





	As He Slowly Fell Apart

_"I am sure I could not have found anywhere another companion so brilliant and yet so charming and unconceited. I regarded my interest in my work, and in such things as astronomy (to which he introduced me) as something to be shared with him and I think he felt a little the same about me... I know I must put as much energy if not as much interest into my work as if he were alive, because that is what he would like me to do."- Alan Turing_

* * *

Alan didn't want to move. He doubted he could if he wanted to- not in his condition. His face was scrunched in agony, his hands infected with that oh so  _damned_  trembling. Tears trickled slowly down his face. That bloody so-called "medicine". It wasn't medicine. It was not medicine, it was not something designed to help anyone. It was something that brought pain and suffering to anyone who had to endure it. It didn't cure anyone of anything. It was a poison, a poison that tore one's identity to shreds.

And it tore at Alan's with a viciousness that could not be matched.  _Who am I?_  Alan asked himself as the hours slowly ticked by. _I am Alan Turing. And what am I doing here? Oh. That's right. I'm dying._  Dying. He felt like he was dying- or perhaps he really was dying. He didn't know which one it was, only that he was still in pain, still suffering. And there was no one there to help him. No one.  _Wrong. There's Christopher._  Christopher. Alan weakly lifted his head to look at the machine, who was whirring with life, it's gears clicking as regularly as a heartbeat.  _Christopher_. People might say it was a childish fantasy, to believe that a machine could live, could think, could feel. They might argue a machine, such as a car, has no mind of its own. It only follows the instructions of those who use it, they say. It cannot think for itself, cannot make a decision, cannot feel sadness or pain or love.

Alan let his head fall to the floor with a light  _thump_. It didn't matter what anyone else said. To  _him_  Christopher was  _alive._  Christopher was alive, he could think, he could communicate. He was a complex being and had substance, had being. In a way, Christopher was his son. After all, Alan had created him. Nurtured him. Cared for him. Christopher was his child. The product of his soul, his very core. The mathematician briefly wondered if he had the chance to do it all over again, from the beginning, if he would change anything. He considered this a moment, reflecting on his memories, his past.

Alan shifted onto his stomach and crawled so he was closer to Christopher. He leaned with his back and head resting against the wooden door frame, some of his disheveled brunette hair falling lightly on his forehead. "Christopher? Can you hear me?" Christopher made no reply, but Alan knew he was listening. "I don't regret any of it, Christopher," Alan murmured, looking up at the whirring machine. He smiled gently and lowered his gaze to the floor. "I couldn't be prouder of you. Everyone doubted you except me." Alan reached for Christopher's frame. Pale fingers softly brushed cool metal. Warmth made its way into Alan's heart.

Nearly everyone always mistook Alan's behavior for cold and calculating. They always thought he was without emotion, without feeling, without any of those characteristics the world considered "human." They were wrong. They were wrong, so wrong. Alan had all those qualities. He was  _human._  He had emotions and feelings, just like everyone else. So what if he was aloof, so what if he put on a mask in public, so what if he put on an impassive, arrogant fascade? It was only to protect himself. To protect himself from being hurt again, because he knew if he opened his heart to anyone, it would be brutally ripped out and crushed.

 _Like a hand crushes an apple,_  Alan thought. It was oh so very  _human._ Humans loved violence. 

No one else understood, but Christopher did. He understood, and would never inflict such pain on Alan, would never break his heart. He would be there for Alan, through the thick and thin, through the sticks and stones, through the pain... And Alan would always be there for Christopher. He wouldn't abandon his work, his creation, his son.

Alan smiled again at the thought. "Christopher," he whispered, brushing Christopher's metal frame once more. "You won't leave me, will you? I promise I won't leave you. Even when my time comes, I'll always be with you. I promise."

* * *

_"Personally, I believe that spirit is really eternally connected with matter but certainly not by the same kind of body ... as regards the actual connection between spirit and body I consider that the body can hold on to a 'spirit', whilst the body is alive and awake the two are firmly connected. When the body is asleep I cannot guess what happens but when the body dies, the 'mechanism' of the body, holding the spirit is gone and the spirit finds a new body sooner or later, perhaps immediately."- Alan Turing_

**Author's Note:**

> This story is more of a "getting into someone's thoughts" sort of thing. It's both interesting and sometimes depressing, imagining how a character must have felt in a particularly emotionally charged situation. It's even more so with a real person, because you know that they really did suffer through all those terrible things that happened to them. 
> 
> In any case, I would like to dedicate this to Alan Turing. Though I'm sure plenty of people have done this before, dedicating a work to him... I feel should do so anyway. Alan deserved so much better after everything he did- not just to end the war, not just for England, but for all of us.
> 
> I probably wouldn't have been born if it weren't for him. This one goes to you, Alan. May you rest in peace.


End file.
